


B&B. No bed, no breakfast, no beauties. Just these idiots.

by Eloarei



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Emotionally Constipated Hanzo Shimada, Fables - Freeform, Fairy Tale Elements, Gen, Oni Hanzo Shimada, Tone - irreverent, hint of McHanzo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:42:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22057240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eloarei/pseuds/Eloarei
Summary: The Shimada family is on a steady decline, and so a spirit descends upon them with a chance for redemption and growth. But it turns out that Shimada Hanzo is a hard-headed martyr, enough to make even a dragon think of regretting its choices. Will Hanzo learn to take his destiny into his own hands before it's too late? (The answer is a resounding 'no', but that's what friends and family are for.)
Relationships: Genji Shimada & Hanzo Shimada, Hanzo Shimada & Shimada Spirit Dragon(s), Jesse McCree & Hanzo Shimada
Kudos: 14





	B&B. No bed, no breakfast, no beauties. Just these idiots.

**Author's Note:**

> I started this _years_ ago, without much plan, then kind of buried it under a hundred other things. Finally scraped together an ending for it recently, so I figured I ought to at least post it before New Years. I guess it's appropriate, New Years being about new beginnings and all.

Once upon a time, in a land that some would certainly call far-away and mystical, there lived a prince in a grand castle. More specifically, there were two princes, and it was more of a palace that they lived in-- an open, airy sort of place, with sprawling well-manicured gardens, and overall quite a peaceful aura. 

At least, it would have seemed peaceful to an outsider. Anyone who lived in the castle, no matter how young, no matter how ignorant, couldn't help but be aware of the tension that had grown over the years. Darkness spread from the heart of the family, and slowly engulfed everyone. Even the young princes, who had such capacity for goodness, were helpless to escape from the evil of their power-mad forebears. 

Then, one day, unbeknownst to these mortal individuals, a spirit came upon them. It was not pleased with the path the family was treading, and sought to shake things up a bit, as spirits are wont to do. It set itself down into the bodies of the family elders and called upon the older of the two princes, the one called Hanzo. 

“We have an important task for you,” the spirit made the elders say. 

Hanzo simply nodded-- quiet, calm, obedient, as he'd been taught. 

“There is a curse upon this family,” the elders said, and Hanzo's eyes widened fractionally, as if someone had confirmed his suspicions. “Kill your brother.” 

“What?” Hanzo sucked in a shallow breath, a stifled gasp. His body began to tremble, but he held it still. “No, I could not...” 

The elders shifted, oddly in sync though Hanzo did not notice. “Do you not trust your elders?” 

It did not seem that Hanzo was entirely sure, but he snapped to attention and attempted to school his features to neutrality. “Of course I do,” he responded, his mouth a tight thin line across his face. 

Wrong answer. 

The spirit had been hoping, for the family's own sake, that Hanzo, when given the choice, would cut his ties with the darkness and chose to make his own way, perhaps dragging the family back up to the light. But this was Hanzo's decision to make, and so it allowed him. 

It watched as Hanzo, struggling to control his fear, strode purposefully through the beautiful palace, collected his katana, and ruthlessly murdered his little brother in the name of trust and obedience. It watched as Hanzo did not cry, but stood and shook violently, staring down at the pool of blood sinking into the grass. And when Hanzo turned to walk back and report to the elders, in measured steps that wanted desperately to be frantic bounds towards freedom, the spirit came down to him in the form of two blue dragons. 

“Shimada Hanzo,” it said to him in a rumbling yet ethereal voice, watching the young man quake before him. “Your family has been cursed since it began its descent into darkness many generations ago. It is a curse of their own doing. I thought to give you a chance to lift this curse, but it seems, instead, you have sealed your fate.” 

“...The elders?” Hanzo asked, his face gone pale-- so pale it drained of all color entirely and brought him to a sickly grey shade. 

“No, that was me,” the spirit told him airily, flicking its tails.

“Then, you tricked me!” The prince's face contorted into an ugly expression of anger; he snarled at the spirit and bared his fangs in fury. 

The spirit gave what was best likened to a shrug. “Yes,” it admitted. “But the elders had already begun to plan this. You'd have been goaded towards killing your brother before the year was up, even had I not come.” 

Some of the fight fell from Hanzo, replaced by a deep weariness. “Why have you done this?” 

“I told you,” the spirit told him. “To give you a chance. You blew the first one, but you may yet have another. There may come an opportunity to right your wrongs. Until then, though, I think I'll keep an eye on you, and perhaps serve as a reminder.” 

The dragons then lit up into glowing runes and shrunk down until they could wind themselves tight around Hanzo's left arm, squeezing until they melted into his skin in a blaze of light that left the prince's arm tingling painfully. 

“No, get out!” he shouted at his own arm, pulling futilely at the lovely new sleeve and feeling quite violated. But the dragons did not respond, and they didn't leave. 

It was the start of a rather horrible relationship that would last for at least the next ten years. 

xXx 

After Hanzo had been accosted by the dragons and left feeling heartbroken and humiliated, he stormed to his room and didn't come out for days, lost to the world in his spiral of despair. Only when he finally emerged, thinking he might deign to feed himself, did he notice how terribly empty the palace was. 

“Dragons!” he yelled, hoping to summon the spirit. “What did you do with the others? Where is my family? Where are the servants?” 

The spirit did not respond, leaving Hanzo to search the grounds on his own. 

He found no one, not a single trace of life within the palace or its grand gardens. “Dragons!” he cried, but there was no response, and there never would be. 

As he wandered, Hanzo found himself in the garden where he'd slain Genji, his brother. The young man's body was gone, like all the others. The grass into which his blood had soaked was an alarming blackened grey, as if the blades had not only died but  _ become _ death. He thought little of it until weeks had passed, and he noticed that the deadness had spread several feet out from its source and showed no sign of stopping. 

' _ This is my punishment,' _ he told himself.  _ 'My punishment for being born to this accursed family, for my loyalty.'  _

The spirit, still clinging silently to the prince and hoping he would eventually come to the right conclusion, rolled its eyes. 

It wasn't long before the grief and the guilt did eventually replace the bitterness and instinct to blame someone else, but it still wasn't what the spirit was looking for. It rather tired of Hanzo's constant internal and occasional external monologue about how horrible he was for having killed his own dear brother, as if it had been entirely his own idea. 

The pain in Hanzo's heart manifested physically in his skin, which came as only a little of a shock to him when he eventually happened across a mirror and saw what had become of his self. It felt fitting, that his skin had gone grey and his teeth had become fangs and small horns had grown up out of his forehead. This was who he was now, wasn't it? A killer, a monster. 

He wallowed in an unusual combination of pity and hatred for himself for years and watched the deadness grow with a feeling of sick satisfaction as it crept closer to the ends of the palace grounds. The spirit still wouldn't speak to him to confirm or deny his thoughts, but he had the sneaking suspicion that once the whole compound had been turned to grey, that would be the end of things, and he welcomed it. 

Despite feeling that he probably deserved to be swallowed up by the spreading death, Hanzo still found himself spending most of his time in the living areas, surrounded as much as he could manage by the still-vibrant pinks of the sakura trees, which now only ringed the outer edge of the palace walls. He watched the dark creep closer and felt guiltier still, that the poor beautiful plants would soon be killed by his own mistakes. He spent much of his available time appreciating them while they lasted. 

So he was there, near the palace gate, in the last remaining hundred yards of life, when a stranger walked in as if he owned the place. Hanzo had assumed the gates were locked, since nobody else had come to visit in ten years, but the stranger just strolled right in, a man on a mission, apparently. 

“Oh,” the scruffy man said as he turned the corner and came face to face with the tip of an arrow. “I, uh, didn't think anyone was gonna be home.” 

Hanzo didn't know why he'd decided to draw on the intruder; it wasn't as if there was much left to protect here in this rapidly dying place. But the spirit, who was still entwined with the prince, could tell that Hanzo just wanted to finish suffering his penance in peace. “What do you want?” he demanded, fighting the instinct to cough and clear the roughness from his voice; such a motion would have shattered the illusion of his ferocity, he feared. 

The man put his hands up, instead of drawing his own weapon, which was holstered in plain sight on his hip. “Hey now, I was just lookin' for someone. Thought he might be around here somewhere.” 

“Who is it that you're looking for?” Hanzo asked, lowering his bow, but only so that it was pointing at the man's stomach instead of his face. 

“Well that's classified information,” the stranger told him. “But I hear he comes 'round these parts once a year, 'bout this time. Family business or some such.” 

Still though he didn't know why (to the spirit's constant annoyance; the prince was so hard-headed and not at all in tune with his emotions!), Hanzo backed off further. “He won't be on these grounds then,” he said. “There is no family business left here to return to.” 

“Is that so?” the man asked, thick accent slurring the first two words. “I've still got a feelin', though, so if ya don't mind, I might stick around a few days 'n see if he shows up.” 

Hanzo's first instinct was to push the man back out through the open front gate, but that was quickly replaced by the decision to let him stay.  _ He _ had a feeling too. So he nodded his consent. “Fine,” he said. “You may stay. But do not step on the black grass.” It was a bit of an arbitrary stipulation, especially as it was  _ all _ likely to be dead within the month, but the black blades were fragile and easily broken, and he wanted it to at least be left whole in its death. 

“Sure thing,” the scruffy man said, saluting casually. “You don't mind if I look around though, do ya? So long as I stay on the path?” 

“Be my guest,” Hanzo replied, waving him off into the innards of the palace grounds and returning to his lonely waiting for death. 

xXx

It didn't occur to Hanzo to be shocked that the man hadn't been shocked by  _ him _ until he passed by a mirror later and was reminded of his appearance. He brought it up with his guest when next they saw each other, that evening out in the living edges of the grounds by the gate, where they both had decided to sleep. (There was something unsettling about sleeping in the dead areas of the palace; even this new man seemed to feel it.) 

“Nice place ya got here,” the man said as he settled down against the outermost wall and dug into his pack for some dinner. “Colorin's kinda strange, but it's still a right fancy house.” 

“...Thank you,” Hanzo responded, unsure quite how to take such a compliment. He sat down a good twenty feet away from the stranger and took a bite out of one of his plums; that was what he ate most days, the plum trees being the only food-bearing plant on the property to still live. Other days he hunted birds that flew overhead or raccoons that skittered along the walls, but he hadn't felt like killing today. 

They had a few minutes of silence that was maybe just shy of companionable, certainly not as awkward as Hanzo would have expected, given that this man was a total stranger and the first person he'd spoken with in a decade. He was really quite surprised that his mere countenance hadn't scared the man off. Clearly, whatever his business here, it was important. 

“You're a very composed man,” he mentioned, hoping to sound casual but not really knowing what casual sounded like anymore, if ever he did. 

“What makes you say that?” The man huffed a laugh at him from across the way, like he thought it wasn't a comment he deserved. 

“You did not seem bothered when you first saw me today.” 

The man really laughed then, honestly amused. “I was a little bothered! This place was s'posed to be a ghost town, so I wasn't expecting to have an arrow in my face.” 

Hanzo glared at the man, who it seemed was being purposefully obtuse. “That is not what I mean, and I think you know it.” 

“I know,” the man said. “You mean your pretty face there. I'm guessing most of the folks who come 'round don't exactly take a shinin' to it?” 

For a short moment, Hanzo was stunned. Stunned that the man had quit playing at being dense so suddenly, and at what he'd said. 'Pretty'. It sounded like maybe just the way the man talked, like he'd have said that to even the most hideous of people, but it still gave Hanzo pause. “There are no 'folks' to take a shining to anything in this place,” he explained as soon as he'd properly regained his composure. “It has been only me for many years now.” 

The man considered this. “Huh, so you been around here for a while?” 

“Yes,” Hanzo stated, as if it should be obvious. “It is my home. It has always been my home.” 

“Always? Well if that don't just beat all...” The man looked a little surprised, but there was obviously more going on in his head than shock over the longevity of Hanzo's isolation. It looked like he was building a puzzle in his mind. 

However, instead of asking about that, Hanzo reiterated his original question. “Why were you not scared of me? Clearly, I am a monster.” 

His scruffy guest looked back up, refocusing on him almost like he'd forgotten Hanzo was there in those short few moments. “I guess you are,” he conceded. “But you're not the only one. It's been a long time since a little ol' monster could frighten me off.” 

“Are you saying you have met others like me?” Hanzo asked, the idea both unlikely and concerning. 

“Not like you  _ specifically _ , no,” the man said with a shrug. “But like I said, you ain't the only one whose inner demons work their way to the outside sometimes. Some others even learn to live with it. But I guess you wouldn't know that, all holed up in here like you have been.” 

Hanzo frowned at what seemed like an accusation. “You speak as if I have a choice.” 

“Don't you?” his guest asked. “It ain't exactly impossible to leave this place. I didn't even have to shoot out the locks when I came in.” 

Shaking his head, Hanzo replied, “It is not that simple. Yes, I may be physically able to leave, but my soul is chained to this place through my misdeeds.” 

The scruffy man gave him a skeptical look. “Tch. Sounds like a pretty cheap excuse for not  _ doin' _ somethin' about it. I get wantin' to throw yourself a pity party sometimes, 'specially after you done somethin' really rotten. But ain't ten years a little long to be sittin' around and squanderin' all your potential? You could be doin'  _ good _ instead of just regretting all the bad you done.” 

Suddenly, Hanzo was rather suspicious of this stranger who seemed to know a little too much. “Who are you?” he asked, growling and baring his teeth. 

The stranger returned the gesture, though with a grin that somehow made it seemed friendly, like a challenge between old team mates. “That's right, I guess I never did introduce myself. Jesse McCree, and if I'm guessin' right, I'd say you're Hanzo Shimada.” 

Hanzo was on his feet and had crossed the distance between them in no time, grabbing a fistful of McCree's red shawl and hauling him up by it. “Who  _ are _ you?!” 

(The spirit huffed in exasperation over the emotional mess that Hanzo was in, but was otherwise metaphorically sitting on the edge of its seat, really rooting for the newcomer.) 

“Told ya, name's McCree,” said the scruffy man, who seemed to be growing scruffier by the moment-- although Hanzo was a little too enraged to notice. 

“Did you come here to kill me?!” Hanzo demanded, though it escaped even him as to why he  _ cared _ . After all, he was planning to die some time in the next month or so anyway, so what did it matter if he was shot through the heart by a bounty hunter instead of rotting into nothingness with his home? It would amount to very little either way. 

McCree pushed him off, but only lightly. “Nah, look, I told ya I came here lookin' to meet up with someone. He hinted he'd be in the area this week and might could use my help with somethin'. It's all makin' a little more sense now.” 

Instead of calming his rage, the gentle tone of voice McCree was using made Hanzo all the more angry, and perhaps more prideful. “So you've come here to help me, is that it? Were I even  _ in need _ of help, why should I accept it from someone who knows nothing of what I have been through? You have no idea the depths of my suffering or what I did to deserve it!” 

Infuriatingly, McCree laughed. Hanzo was mere moments from lashing out at him when he was slammed to the ground forcefully enough to break a normal human's ribs; to him, it only stung a little, and shocked him out of his blind rage. Finally he could  _ see _ the man he was yelling at, the fur growing down his face and neck, the sharp teeth in his grinning mouth, and the unnatural glow of his eyes. Perched on top of him was a man that was unmistakably a monster.

“Now darlin', do you think that's really true?” McCree asked, smirking as much as one was able when their mouth had become an elongated snout full of razors. “'Course I can't know everything, but to think that there ain't nobody in the whole world who could understand just a little of what you're goin' through-- that's a tad conceited, don'tcha think?”

Well, Hanzo  _ might _ have thought so, if he were capable of doing much thinking at all, at that point. (The spirit rather thought this might be an improvement over the prince's usual  _ over _ -thinking.) 

“Get off me,” he said, though it lacked the vigor of his previous statements. 

Bowing, McCree did as he was asked, stepping back to give Hanzo some room. Hanzo appreciated that he didn't hold out a hand to haul him up off the ground; he wanted to at least pretend he still had some semblance of pride.   
  
McCree dusted himself off absently as he watched Hanzo stagger back and away from him. “Now from the way you’re talkin’, I have to assume you ain’t really in the loop about much of anything, are ya?”   
  
Hanzo was half a second away from launching the most incensed tirade at this McCree, about how this was his home and the _yaro_ could see himself out if he wasn’t going to be polite, but the wolfish man (though already he’d faded back mostly into his human form) held up a quick hand.   
  
“You’re a jumpy damn fella,” he said with a laugh. “I just meant… Y’ever heard of Overwatch?”   
  
“Yes,” Hanzo replied, glaring suspiciously. “What has a failed military company to do with me?”   
  
Cocking his head to the side, McCree adopted a pose that looked thoughtful, and perhaps purposefully innocent. “Oh, well, nothin’ yet, I suppose. It’s got to do with me, though. And the guy I came here to meet. Goes by the name Genji?”   
  
The pain of memory clawed at Hanzo’s heart at hearing the name of his brother for the first time in so long. He cast his eyes downward. “If that is who you seek, you are many years too late. Unless you can speak with the dead, you will not find him here.”   
  
“Oh, no, I can’t talk to ghosts,” McCree said, chuckling. “No better or worse than you can, I figure, or you’d know that brother of yours never quite made it to the other side. Least, not more than a couple weeks ago. Pretty sure he weren’t dead when we got drinks last.”   
  
Hanzo stared at McCree for a long quiet moment, mouth hanging open quite inelegantly, and then a seething rage began to build up in him. The spirit braced itself for the prince to shout bloody murder at his guest over the supposed trickery, but to its great surprise, it was not McCree who Hanzo was upset with; in fact, it seemed he had believed the man.   
  
“Dragons!” Hanzo bellowed, looking up and around him, willing them to appear. “Show yourselves! Come to me and answer for this deception, immediately!”   
  
Well, damn.   
  
The strength of Hanzo’s soul in that moment was utterly compelling, and the spirit felt it almost had no choice but to respond. Hesitantly, it unwound from Hanzo’s arm and swirled up into the air a few paces away from both the prince and the guest.   
  
“Long time no see,” the dragons said in their echoing voices.   
  
Hanzo had no mind for pleasantries. “Tell me, dragons. Is what this man says true? Does my brother truly yet live?” He stared at them a moment before demanding, “WHY?! Why did you lie to me?”   
  
“Well you didn’t check, did you?” The dragons swirled around, like a smoky shrug. “We never told you he died. You just assumed. Not very professional, by the way. Your elders would have been very displeased.”   
  
“I shall be more thorough this time!” Hanzo growled, drawing his bow and knocking two arrows, before aiming it at one of their heads, though he _had_ to know it wouldn’t do any good, the dragons being spirits and all. But before he could make a fool of himself by attempting to attack them, a voice spoke from behind him, and he turned swiftly to aim instead up at the wall, upon which perched a man in armor styled after an omnic. For the very shortest moment he thought perhaps it _was_ an omnic, but then his ears caught up to his brain and he realized who it was.   
  
“Brother, stop,” the voice had called.   
  
“Genji…” Hanzo had said in response.   
  
(He had not been shocked enough to accidentally loose an arrow at his brother and give Genji the opportunity to demonstrate his reflexes by catching it; the younger Shimada would have to show off his new skills at another time.)   
  
It was not only Genji’s appearance that shocked Hanzo, but the fact that beside him glowed yet another dragon. This one was green, but it seemed to be a spirit too. No real dragon could look quite so much like a neon sign, or so Hanzo assumed, at least, having never seen one.   
  
“There ya are,” McCree said, quirking a smile up at Genji. “Hope you don’t mind I got started first. Wish I’d knew all the details first though. Thought you came every year? Could’a warned me your brother was a _oni.”_   
  
“ _Gomen,”_ Genji said with a playful tilt of his head, which made Hanzo’s heart ache. “It isn’t polite to speak so openly of family matters. Anyway, I knew you could handle him.”   
  
“Handlin’ ain’t the issue,” McCree grumbled, but he just shrugged.   
  
Hanzo was still shaking his head in some sort of disbelief. “Brother… I won’t ask how you survived, but... “ He glanced at the green dragon, then at McCree, at the blue dragons, then finally back to Genji. The spirit was a bit amused by the innocent, pleading look in his eyes, though it was already exasperated, knowing that Hanzo was about to be back on his bullshit of blaming himself.   
  
“Ah.” Genji leapt down from the wall and came a little closer, but not too close. “I wanted to invite you to join my team. Overwatch. They’re looking for good fighters, and I have first hand experience with your skill.”   
  
Hanzo’s eyes went wide at Genji’s casual tone, that he could speak so freely of what tormented Hanzo so badly.   
  
“Too soon?” McCree asked with a snort.   
  
Genji laughed and held up his hands in apology. “I only meant that I had seen you fight many times in the past. I know you would be a good addition. Also… well, I have missed you.”   
  
“Why did you not come sooner?” Hanzo asked. He was aware he sounded a bit like a child, but he couldn’t help it.   
  
“I did,” Genji said with an uncomfortable sort of nod. “I have come every year to see you. But since you shot at me the first time I attempted to show myself, I decided to watch silently.”   
  
Hanzo stared. “I must have thought you were a raccoon,” he said faintly. He couldn’t stop staring. Genji, while clearly quite changed from the young man he had been before (the whole… robot body thing), was alive. His brother was alive. He hadn’t killed him.   
  
But he _could have!_ The dragons had tasked him with murdering Genji and they probably hadn’t known that Hanzo would fail! The fact that Genji was hurt might have been Hanzo’s fault and he was willing to accept that, but the fact that he had _almost died_ was _their_ fault, and they weren’t going to live that down! (Nevermind that they weren’t strictly alive to begin with.) Today they would face the consequences of their decision to take advantage of him. 

"Do you have anything to say for yourselves, dragons?" he asked, pointing his bow not _at_ them but towards them. "Because I believe this has gone on long enough."   
  
The spirit sighed, wondering if it ought to just finally spell it all out for Hanzo because the guy was obviously as dense as a midnight fog, but the younger prince stepped forward. “ _Matte,_ brother! Don’t be angry at the dragons. They’re what saved us.”   
  
Hanzo shot a deadly scowl over his shoulder, though Genji deflected it with ease. “Look at us,” Hanzo growled. “I do not think we are _saved.”_   
  
(McCree made a little noise of exasperation in the background, endearing the spirit to him further.)   
  
“We are,” Genji insisted. “Because we are free. If the dragons had not descended upon our family, we would still be stuck in the dark ways of the past. I would never have had the chance to leave this place, and you would not have the chance now.”   
  
“Are you saying that I should thank the dragons instead?” Hanzo asked, scoffing. “That I should be grateful for the misery of the past decade?”   
  
Genji shook his head, and the spirit vaguely envied its sibling for getting the more level-headed prince. “How you feel is up to you,” he said, gently, so gentle that it pained Hanzo. “But I think you should understand that the dragons’ intention was not to cause you needless pain.”   
  
“Then _what?”_ Hanzo demanded, and when Genji didn’t answer, he turned again to the dragons. “What, dragons? What was your intent, if not to torture me? If not to rid the world of the cursed Shimada line?”   
  
“Personal growth?” the dragons suggested, swirling around each other in an approximation of a shrug. 

Hanzo fired an arrow at one of the dragons' heads, viciously pleased at the way it disturbed its form like a pebble causing ripples in water. The spirit flicked its tails in annoyance, and McCree erupted in laughter. 

"No offense Genji, but I'm gettin' the feeling your brother's a little hard headed and maybe not the kind to wanna talk things through so much."    
  
Genji just sighed, while Hanzo bristled. It was all fine for his brother and their uninvited guest; neither of them were having their world turned upside down at the moment. They had had years to come to terms with things, not mere minutes. Though… grudgingly he supposed that  _ might _ make them more level-headed about the situation.    
  
“Genji…” Hanzo said quietly, as a question occurred to him. “When you realized the truth, did you not attempt to take revenge upon the dragon bound to you?”    
  
“I considered it,” Genji replied airily. “Initially it was you upon whom I wished revenge, until the spirit explained that you were under a curse of the family’s doing. When it told me that it was responsible, I was briefly blind with rage.”    
  
Vindicated but puzzled, Hanzo asked, “What stopped you?”    
  
Laughing, Genji asked, “Aside from its invulnerability? I was bedridden at the time.” He nodded down at his body; he didn’t explain further, but Hanzo got the implication that it was most likely heavily modified. “Of course, I forgave it quickly, when I realized how freeing it was to be out from under the thumb of the elders-- even without the use of much of my body.”    
  
Hanzo frowned, considering Genji’s explanation. It didn’t sound  _ quite  _ so bad, the way he talked about it, and with a smile, even. He  _ supposed _ he could grant a small amount of forgiveness to the spirits for giving Genji freedom. After all, it had always been clear that he would have suffocated under the heavy hand of their family’s leaders. That he should have to give up much of his body to obtain such freedom was quite cruel; crueler still that Hanzo should have been the vector for it. But it was a silver lining, at least.    
  
The fight had apparently visibly left him, even though he was still quite angry. Genji approached him, coming within arm’s-reach. Even McCree stepped in a bit closer, as if they both wanted to… comfort him, or something equally strange. 

But it was not physical comfort that Genji offered, instead wanting to give a demonstration (which, in its way, was a greater comfort). “Aside from freedom, the spirit gave me another gift,” he said, turning partly away and making a gesture which caused his arm to glow much in the way Hanzo’s had from time to time, even over the metal and composite of his fleshless new arm. He aimed, as if to punch a sakura tree in the distance, and from the glowing runes the dragon surged out in a graceful but vicious spiral, rending the leaves from the tree and singing quite a lot of them with the energy.   
  
“Now what did that tree ever do to you?” McCree asked, laughing.   
  
Genji smiled sheepishly. “I pray it forgives me, but I felt it a better demonstration than aiming at much anything else.” Expectantly, he looked over to his brother. “I have been saved many times by this power, brother. I am sure your spirit would bless you with the same, if you would allow it.”   
  
The spirit thought to itself that Genji was right, but that it didn’t have much faith in Hanzo accepting help from anyone, let alone _it._ Of course it was right; _of course._   
  
“I want none of its blessings!” Hanzo cried, though it was more of a perturbed growl. “It should consider itself lucky enough that I will consider forgiving its _previous_ ‘blessing’.”   
  
Well, that was good enough for now, the spirit thought. Apparently Genji felt the same. He lit up with joy, and then _did_ physically embrace his brother. Hanzo was stiff, but he didn’t push Genji away, despite his misgivings about the situation. It was still strange to him, that yesterday he had been more than prepared to die for the sin of killing his brother, and today his brother was here with his own spirit and an anachronistic teammate who had agreed to tag along for no reason other than… curiosity? 

“Why did you send a werewolf to recruit me?” he asks, expecting that Genji already saw some parallel between the two of them, if he had been covertly visiting for years and had already known of Hanzo’s monstrous form.    
  
Genji responded with an innocent smile. “I thought I might need his strength to carry you back if you proved difficult to persuade.”    
  
Hanzo tried not to bristle at that, at the image of himself being possibly hog-tied and carried over the werewolf’s shoulder all the way back to wherever the reformed Overwatch was hiding. He appreciated, at least, that his brother’s reasoning was so pragmatic. It might have been too much for him to have to have that discussion just then, about the similarities between the monster men. It was bad enough that McCree had had to pull that on him when they had barely just met. Admittedly, it was… perhaps something he would wish to discuss with the other man, but at a later date. McCree’s own self-confidence did hold a certain allure.    
  
“Speakin’ of, why don’t we get outta here,” McCree suggested, jerking his head back towards the gate he’d strolled in through.    
  
“A sound suggestion,” Genji replied, and he looked to Hanzo to await his final answer.    
  
Sighing, Hanzo nodded. “I shall go with you, if only to atone for my sins against you. However, I dislike to leave the castle this way, to its death.”    
  
Genji tilted his head, birdlike, and looking over Hanzo’s shoulder. “It seems the castle will be fine.  _ Mite; _ the flowers have begun to bloom again.”    
  
So they had. The black was receding from the grass as well, giving way to the more lively green color it ought always to have been. Nothing changed while you looked at it, as if shy, but when Hanzo turned his gaze away and then back, it had colored more in the absence of his attention. It was a relief, yet it annoyed him. He turned on the blue dragons, still idly floating somewhere just out of his vision.    
  
“So  _ now _ you deign to halt the grounds’ death,” he said, sneering at them.    
  
They shook their ethereal heads, whiskers flowing around them like reed-grass in a stream. “That’s on you,” they said. “It was your power all along. To make it clear, you could change back that face of yours too.”    
  
Hanzo’s breath froze in his lungs, stilled in anger— but at what exactly, he couldn’t say. (The spirit was very smug about this, and glad it seemed the dense prince was finally starting to understand what all he’d done to himself.)    
  
McCree clearly understood. “It’ll come in time,” he said with a magnanimous shrug. “Hard to get used to being in control of your own choices, but it’s better’n the alternative, I swear.”    
  
Quite unexpectedly, as the dragons were sure Hanzo was going to take offense at what he’d likely view as McCree’s patronizing, Hanzo just huffed and nodded. He seemed to genuinely accept the advice, and the spirit was on the edge of its metaphorical seat, about to be proud of how far he’d come.    
  
Of course, Hanzo was still a bit hard-up for forgiveness and not  _ quite _ able to accept that the dragons had only set this scene in motion, but that  _ he’d _ kept it going.    
  
“Then I will take that responsibility and put the castle to rights before we depart,” he said, and then glared at the dragons as if he might turn them to stone. (Surely he wished.) “But do not think that I will give you the benefit of such doubt as my brother clearly has!”    
  
The dragons shook their heads and sighed. Truly he was the eldest brother, but not the quicker of the two. At least whatever happened next on the prince’s journey should be more interesting. And if not? Well, they could probably find another trick or two up their sleeve, if that was what it took to get the Shimada family where it really needed to be. The werewolf already had too much spirit to be possessed, but there was probably someone along their path who they could use to cause a little chaos.    
  
The spirit decided to keep its eyes open, just as Hanzo was vowing to keep his eyes on the traitorous dragons and the other two men laughed. It was an improvement, anyway.    



End file.
